Gridlock
by more-than-words
Summary: Ruth remembers why staying late at work can sometimes be a good idea. Fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**In an attempt to distract from current nasty UK news stories, here is some random, unashamedly schmaltzy and hastily-written fluff. Not to be taken seriously. Hope you enjoy! **

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><p>She wanted to look at her watch, but she knew if she did she'd only be depressed. Instead, Ruth focused her attention on the crumpled copy of the Metro she'd found on the bus seat beside her. She scanned the headlines, declared half of them disheartening and the rest of them inaccurate, then put the paper aside and willed the bus to move.<p>

Fifty minutes. She'd left work fifty minutes ago and had been on the bus for forty, and only travelled about two hundred yards from the bus stop. She was starting to remember why she'd initially started staying late at work in the first place: in her more nostalgic, romantic moments, she blamed Harry for her love of late nights on the Grid, but in her more pragmatic moments – such as now – she had to admit to herself that a lot of it was to do with the tendency for the city to descend into gridlock during rush hour.

She couldn't remember it ever being this bad, though. Something must have happened. Something stupid, probably. It was probably some idiot in a car a couple of streets away, trying to change lanes at an inopportune moment and causing a tailback of monumental proportions.

Whatever it was, she didn't really care. She just wanted to be home. She'd only left work early because she was in need of an evening of rest and relaxation in front of the telly, accompanied by all the chocolate and wine she could find. She might as well have stayed at her desk with the surveillance feeds. At least then she'd have something mildly diverting to watch.

Ruth was so busy ranting internally at the imbecility of a significant proportion of the Great British public – as, she suspected, everyone else also did when stuck in traffic jams – that she almost missed the ringing of her phone. She rescued the mobile from her bag just before it cut off. "Hello?"

"Hello, Ruth." Harry. She could picture him, sitting in his office, right where she'd left him almost an hour ago. "Sorry to disturb you."

She glanced out of the window, at the darkening skies and the jammed streets. "You're not disturbing me."

"I know you're meant to be having a quiet night, so I'll… What's that?"

"What's what?"

"All that noise."

Ruth glanced behind her at the gaggle of youths sitting at the back of the bus, playing stupid ringtones on their phones at full volume. She suddenly felt old. "The bus."

"You're still on the bus?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

She shrugged and then felt silly for it. "I'm fairly certain that if it was a clear evening I'd still be able to see Thames House from here."

"Bad traffic?" He didn't wait for a response. "Hold on, I'll see if I can find out what the hold-up is."

Ruth heard Harry start to tap at his computer. "Erm, why were you calling?"

"Hmm? Oh. I was looking for the summary report from last week. Couldn't find the printout."

"There is no printout. I emailed it to you with the date in the subject line. Paperless office environment, remember?"

Harry mumbled something that sounded like _sodding paperless office_, and then he said, "Found it."

"The report?"

"No. The reason you're stuck in traffic."

"Oh?"

"Mmm. An accident further up the road. It doesn't look like it's going to clear for a while."

"Oh, fantastic." Ruth wondered whether the tattered copy of the Metro was stimulating enough to get her through the traffic jam from hell. She cursed herself for leaving her book at home as she dashed out the door that morning, late because the cat had thrown up all over the kitchen floor.

Harry was talking again. "Well, if you're not going anywhere," he said, "why don't you come back to Thames House?"

She couldn't resist the urge to be sarcastic. "Thanks for the offer, Harry, but the whole point of leaving early was so I didn't have to work late."

"No, I know that. I meant… Why don't you come back here and meet me and I'll take you out to dinner to make up for it?"

Well. That one caught her off-guard. She should probably have been expecting it, given their heightened levels of flirting of late, but as it was the shock meant that her response wasn't the most eloquent she could have given. "Why?"

Harry sounded bemused on the other end of the phone line. "Well, it's dinnertime. And it doesn't seem like you have anywhere else to be right now." He paused. "And I really don't want to do this report."

Ruth chuckled. "Any other reason?"

There was a beat before Harry answered. "Because I want to go for dinner with you. Will that do? Is it something you might be able to indulge?"

Had she been anywhere else, she might have been tempted to make an excuse if only for the sake of tradition. Now, though, there was no other answer she could give him. And she found that she liked it. "Yes." It felt good to say.

"Good," Harry said. "I'll be waiting."

It was much simpler than she'd ever thought it could be. Question, answer, dinner. She hung up the phone and stood up, making her way to the ground floor of the bus and then jumping off, glad to see that the doors were already open. Ruth crossed three lanes of immobile traffic and then turned to head back towards Thames House.

Just then, the rev of engines started up and, as she walked, the cars started moving again – slowly, but they were moving. She ignored them and kept on walking towards the promise of a dinner date. She didn't think Harry was the sort to arrange a traffic jam of epic proportions just to get her to go to dinner with him, but even if he was, she didn't particularly care.

She looked back as she reached the corner of the road and watched her bus disappear out of sight, and then looked across to the front entrance of Thames House a couple of hundred metres ahead. She could just about see Harry waiting to the side of the door, hands in his pockets and a smile gracing his face as he saw her approaching. She quickened her step to meet him.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading :) <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, this was going to be a one-shot but it seems as though more distraction from the news is needed, so… here's more rapidly-written indulgent fluff! Probable lurch of tone between the first chapter and this one, but… oops. **

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><p>Half an hour later, they found themselves in a small French restaurant a few streets away from Thames House. It had reached that odd time of night, when most of London had left work for home and there were still few evening revellers about, and so the restaurant was surprisingly quiet.<p>

Harry was watching her. Ruth could feel his eyes on her as she scanned the menu and wondered whether it might be a good idea to avoid anything that had garlic in it… just in case, of course. She used the distraction of choosing what to eat to wonder where she might be right now if she hadn't said yes to Harry's dinner request. At home with the cat, most likely, or possibly still stuck on the bus. She thought that reality had turned out much better.

She still couldn't quite shake the minor suspicion she felt over the convenient timing of the traffic jam and the dinner request, but knew she was just being ridiculous. It was just an unexpectedly nice coincidence, that was all.

Not that she thought Harry was incapable of organising a traffic jam if he felt like it, of course…

"Ruth?" His voice startled her and she looked up from her menu to find him still watching her, leaning forwards with the wine list in one hand.

"Hmm?"

"Would you like some wine?"

She thought about it, and decided there was really only one honest answer she could give. "No, thank you."

Harry's face fell as he obviously read her refusal of wine as some sort of rejection, or perhaps the firm classification of their dinner as a meal between friends rather than a date. "Oh."

Ruth felt she had to explain herself. "It's just… it seems as though this is a night for keeping a clear head." She gave him a smile that she hoped would be reassuring – and inviting. "And a night to remember." She left the rest unspoken: it wasn't a night to be blurring with alcohol in any way.

"Oh." He sounded much happier that time. _Much_ happier. "Water it is then."

Harry summoned a waiter and had water and bread bought to the table within two minutes. Their orders were taken and then they sat looking at each other, both with small bemused smiles at the direction things were taking. Harry poured the water and then lifted his glass to take a sip. "This really is a perfect evening," he said once the glass was back on the table.

Ruth's smile broadened. "Oh?"

"Mm. I have everything I could possibly need right here," Harry went on. "To mangle a poet: 'a glass of water, a bread roll… and you.'" He had one hand around his water glass, another on the bread roll on his plate, and his eyes were fixed firmly on Ruth's, holding her gaze and refusing to let go.

Her heart leapt into cliché mode and promptly skipped a beat as her breath caught in her chest and the literary reference registered in her mind. _A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thee…_ "You're a regular Omar Khayyam," she said, pleased at how calm she sounded even though internally she was reeling from the brazen compliment.

"I knew you'd get that."

"Just as well, really. Otherwise you might've sounded a bit bonkers."

"Ah, well, I'm used to that."

They both grinned, perfectly in sync even though being in sync was something they both seemed to avoid much of the time. Ruth had long ago forgotten exactly why and it had become more of a habit than anything. Breaking the habit felt good.

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><p>Outside the restaurant after dinner, night had fallen and the streetlights had switched on. Harry and Ruth stood at the kerb, a stone-cold sober sense of unease infiltrating the previously light mood.<p>

Ruth decided to break the silence. "Ah, this is the awkward 'what do we do now' phase of the evening." It didn't sound quite as jovial as she had hoped, instead coming out as though she was nervous as hell. Which, in all honesty, she was. "Sorry," she backtracked. "Not really helping."

Harry interrupted before she could dig herself a bigger hole. "What we do now is this," he said, stepping towards her and reaching out to take her hands in his. His fingers wrapped around hers, cool and hesitant, his own nerves simultaneously all too obvious and cleverly masked his with his usual façade of self-assurance. "We walk back to Thames House. We get in my car and I drive you home."

It was out of her mouth before she could call it back. "And then?"

Harry quirked one eyebrow at the question and the undoubted enquiry behind it. "Well… we can't decide that now, can we?"

"Oh no?"

He shook his head, the humour starting to creep back into his voice. "Oh no. Because if we decide right now what we're going to do when we get to your house, that will ruin the tradition."

Ruth wasn't quite following. "What tradition?"

"The end of date tradition with the awkward car ride as neither party knows quite what to do when they get to the other end and so end up making a spur of the moment decision that usually involves questions with double meanings about 'coming in for coffee'."

"Ah, that fine tradition."

"Yes."

"Where you end up making a decision that's largely based on the amount of alcohol in your bloodstream."

"Well. Yes." Harry looked a little as though he would very much like a large scotch, pronto.

"And then sometimes they regret it."

He thought about it. "I suppose so."

"But we haven't drunk anything."

"No."

"So we're sober. Clear-headed." She saw him open his mouth to respond but cut him off before he could even start. "Which means I know that there's no way I'm going to regret this." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, fleetingly, with just enough pressure to let him feel the intent behind it. She carried on speaking, feeling his breath against her lips as they stood close. "And if you want to come in when we get to mine, I can honestly say I won't regret that, either."

Harry shuffled in front of her, anticipation clearly building in him. "No?"

"No. Whether you come in for a cup of tea or for… something else… it would be very nice."

He kissed her that time, capturing her lips in his and bringing one hand to the back of her head to prolong the contact. "Tea would be nice," he mumbled against her mouth.

"Just tea?"

He hesitated slightly, and then gave in to what he so obviously wanted. "Tea. And biscuits, please. And anything else that might be on the table."

She pulled her head away slightly and looked him in the eye, heart thumping hard for all the right reasons. All she wanted to do was get back to Thames House and then take him home with her, but there was something she had to check first. "On one condition."

"And what might that be?"

"You swear to me you didn't engineer that traffic jam earlier."

He feigned guilt. "Oh, well then, I guess the whole thing's off."

"Harry!"

He chuckled. "Hush." He kissed her quickly when he saw her about to protest. "I didn't organise the traffic jam, although maybe I would have done if I knew this was the result."

Ruth pretended to be considering it and then capitulated to what she knew he wanted to hear – and what she wanted to say, but couldn't think of any better way to articulate. "I think there might be quite a lot of gridlock in the near future."

Harry took Ruth's hand and they started walking in the direction of the car. "I think so, too."

"We might have to have more dinners."

"More cups of tea."

"Oh yes."

He pulled her close and quickened his pace, clearly eager to reach their destination. "Yes," he agreed. "I think there might be a _lot_ of traffic jams in future."

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading :)<strong>


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